


Somebody to Love

by Callisparrow



Category: Genesis (Band)
Genre: M/M, Multi, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-19
Updated: 2015-04-19
Packaged: 2018-03-24 19:04:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,299
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3780928
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Callisparrow/pseuds/Callisparrow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This was a gift to my Tumblr friend notsodailyphil! Here's to the unsung love between everybody's favorite lil singer of sad love songs, and all around awesome guitarist Mr. Daryl Stuermer. Inspired by their constant seeming affection for one another onstage. :)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

“Now tell me something, did you know—did you know?” Phil shouted.“Did you know that Mr. Michael John Cloete Crawford Rutherford, he needs somebody to love!”

The crowd roared its approval as the spotlight flashed on Mike's towering form. He grinned and continued his guitar riffs even as Phil moved very close to him and nudged his arm, playfully trying to mess up his concentration. It didn't work.

Over on stage left, Daryl watched their antics with a smile, moving his head to the strutting rhythm. Honestly he found it impossible not to smile when Phil was around. But in the next second he caught sight of them butting their heads together, just close enough to kiss.

He couldn’t stop a twinge of jealousy rising in the pit of his stomach.

The infectious beat of of “Turn It On Again” stomped on unabated as Phil went on to introduce Chester at the drum kit, then Tony behind the keys. Last but not least, it was Daryl's turn. He felt his heart pound as Phil bounced happily towards him and put an arm around his shoulders.

“And did you know that Mr. Daryl Mark Stuermer here, he needs someone to love, don't ya, Daryl?”

For a terrifying moment everything stood still. He could feel a jolt of excitement just from their brief contact, a nervous surge of adrenaline. Then, an unexpected impulse struck him. He moved closer to the microphone in Phil's hand and cried down it as loud as he was able:

“Yes it's true, Phil, I do need someone to love!” His voice was shaky and hardly rose above the crowd noise even with the benefit of the microphone, but Phil seemed delighted. He flashed Daryl the thumbs-up and danced back to the edge of the stage, leading the crowd once again in clapping and song.

Daryl felt his heart sink.

You don't know it’s you, he thought.

You’re the somebody I need.

* * *

 

“Daryl! Won’t you join us?” Mike caught his eye and motioned for him to come closer.

“Oh, um...”

Daryl hesitated. Backstage was aglow with congratulations and happy smiles and the pop of champagne bottles overflowing, but for him, the end of a tour was always so bittersweet. Sure, it meant no traveling for a while, no more schlepping countless heavy crates all over creation. It also meant no performances and a return to everyday routine in a gloomy studio.

It meant he couldn’t see Phil.

“I dunno.” Daryl shrugged and dragged a hand through his tightly-curled mop of hair. “I was just gonna go back to the hotel soon. Maybe order out something...”

“Oh come on, really? Not when there’s fine dining courtesy of... _the catering team!_ ” Phil dramatically waved his arms in the direction of the buffet table, like a magician conjuring it from thin air. He grabbed a plate of bruschetta and held it out for his friends to share. “Here, have something.”

“You did fantastic tonight, you know,” Mike congratulated him with a pat on the back.

Daryl had to gaze up high just to meet the tall guitarist's sleepy light blue eyes, but somehow he felt a little unworthy of his praise tonight and looked away. He shrugged and flashed an embarrassed smile.

“You say that every night,” Daryl demurred.

“And I mean it! I mean it too!” Mike insisted, laughing. He leaned back as Phil took hold of a large bruschetta slice and waved it in front of his nose, trying to feed it to him.

“Go on!” Phil urged him, and giggled as Mike gave in and bit the bread into halves. Phil devoured the other half himself and licked his fingers.

Daryl could only watch their interaction a little too intently, equal parts fascination and amusement and... there was that jealousy again. His emotions spiked into excitement as Phil put one arm around his shoulders affectionately and shook him a little.

“Yeah. You done good, my son!” Phil said.

Again the jumpy feeling lurched in his stomach, the same anticipation of being so close. He could feel the heat radiating from Phil's body and he caught his breath at the damp scent of his sweat. The whole world seemed to stop and all Daryl could imagine was pressing his lips to Phil's, to caress the singer's body and comb his exploring fingers through his silky-soft hair... what remained of it, anyway.

But what on earth was he supposed to say?

Phil, completely unaware of his guitarist's internal crisis, only laughed and broke away to socialize and eat. Daryl tried to do the same but he hardly registered anything, and the rest of the evening passed in a loud and anxious blur. At no point did he find himself in a position to be alone with Phil.

He was beginning to despair.

After a while Mike and Tony made their excuses to leave for the drive back home, and Daryl decided it was about time he left as well. He said his goodbyes, doing his best to sound cheerful, but as he pulled on his coat and started out the stage exit he heard Phil call to him:

“You sure everything's all right, Daryl?”

Daryl stopped in his tracks, a little startled, but he managed to put on a brave face. “Yeah, of course!” he exclaimed. “Why wouldn't it be all right?”

“Oh, I dunno, you seemed worried about something. Just too much excitement, ri'?” His face split into his trademark grin, that irrepressible smile that always seemed to light up the whole room.

Only now it just made Daryl's heart ache.

“Yeah. But it was a great show tonight, fantastic,” Daryl replied. “I'll see you for the next one.” He pushed open the door to the cold night air.

“Might be sooner than you think!” Phil called loudly as he waved goodbye. “I've got plans, Daryl, plans! I'll call you when I'm ready!”

Daryl frowned as he started up his car. He had no idea what Phil was talking about but he was too discouraged to think about it too deeply at the moment. He drove back to the hotel in lonely silence, refusing even the company of the radio for fear of what they might play.

He didn't want to hear any more of Genesis tonight.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rutherbanks. <3 This scene was a mental image I had for a very long time, but I never had a story to put it in until I finally saw the opportunity with this story.

“So. What'll it be, then?”

Tony didn't answer. His brow furrowed as he delicately flipped through the stack of symphonic records with one hand, gently stirring the milk into his cup of tea with the other. Of one thing he was certain, the last thing he wanted to hear right now was pop synths. No, sometimes a palate-cleanser was needed after a tour. He turned over the familiar sleeves of Debussy, Ravel, Rachmaninoff, Sibelius and Satie. But none seemed quite right until he uncovered the well-worn copy of Vaughn Williams' Symphony No. 5. He smiled. It was his favorite, but B-side also included “The Lark Ascending,” and it always made him think of early summer, with warm breezes caressing the surface of a flowing river. They'd hear that first.

He put the record on and briefly checked the fireplace, noticing that the wood was starting to burn a bit low. The smoldering birch logs popped and flared with sparks again at the touch of the poker. Satisfied, Tony took a seat where Mike was waiting with his long arm draped over the back of the couch, inviting him to sit close. They nestled together in the dim glow of the late winter night with their feet on the warm hearthstones, sipping their tea and listening to the flow of music mingle with the cold whistling of wind outside.

“That _is_ nice,” Mike said, nodding at the stereo.

“See, I told you. You'd like classical more if you'd only listen,” Tony replied. “But I did start with something simple for you.” He smiled as Mike put his arm around his shoulders to draw him close.

“Mm. You know me,” Mike replied. “I'm a simple man.”

Tony chuckled and nuzzled closer. Even just one full day after the tour's end, he still felt ready to drop and quietly sleep for the rest of winter, curled up safe and warm against Mike's chest. As he felt Mike's fingers stroke very softly through the tips of his hair, moving to the tempo of the violins, he closed his eyes contentedly and sighed.

The very last thing he wanted to hear was the clamor of the ringing telephone.

“Oh, _bollocks._ ”

Mike stirred at the noise, nearly on the point of sleep. The gentle music on the stereo was slowly fading into silence, but the insistent ringing of the kitchen telephone remained.

“Shall I get it?” Mike mumbled indistinctly.

“No, no. Stay there,” replied Tony. “Ugh, who could be calling now…” He reluctantly left the warmth and safety of the fire to answer the call, shutting the kitchen door behind him.

“Yes, hello?” he said curtly, not bothering to disguise his annoyance.

“Hello, Tony? It's me, Daryl.”

“Oh, Daryl!” Tony exclaimed. On the one hand it was a relief to hear his familiar American voice, and not someone else's. But what could he possibly want at this hour?

“It's good to hear from you. Are you back at home already?” Tony asked, wondering if perhaps Daryl had miscalculated the time difference.

“No, not yet, my flight's tomorrow morning. I just wanted to call and—I hope I'm not bothering you!”

“Not at all,” Tony fibbed. “Is there something wrong? You sound worried.”

“N-no, nothing's wrong. It's just that...” Daryl paused as he felt his heart beat sickeningly fast. “I wanted to ask you something. It's about Phil.”

“Oh? What about him?”

“He's not there, is he?”

“No. Mike is here, though. Shall I put him on?”

“No! No, please, it's... I'm sorry, I shouldn't have called you, I—” He felt his cheeks burn so hot he was certain the heat was transmitting over the phone. This had all been a horrible mistake. “I just needed advice, if you have the time. But please don't tell Mike or Phil that I called you. ”

There was an agonizing moment of silence on the line before Tony said levelly:

“Tell me what's wrong.”

Daryl took a deep breath and explained the whole story as best he could—his infatuation, his irrational jealousy of his own dear friends who were just a little bit closer to Phil than he could ever hope to be. The words poured out of him before he could get a handle on his emotions, and by the time he finished there were a few tears welling in his eyes that thankfully Tony would never see.

“What should I do?” Daryl said at last. The patient silence on the other end of the line was almost too much to bear; he wildly imagined Tony mocking him while he poured out his heart to these bare white hotel walls.

Finally Tony's quiet voice fluttered again:

“I think this is something you should discuss with Phil,” he said softly. “Tell him exactly what you just told me. He'll understand.”

“You don't think he would mind, do you? He wouldn't be insulted?”

“Good heavens, no,” Tony laughed shortly. “This is Phil we're talking about. And he does love you as a friend,” he added. “You should hear him go on about you in the studio, telling all your funny stories. He says he couldn't imagine anyone better for the tours.”

“Really?” Daryl raised his head and rubbed his stinging eyes. “He really says that?”

“Of course.”

From the next room, Tony heard Mike cough unnecessarily loudly as the stereo ramped up again, this time with smooth saxophone licks that sounded suspiciously like a different record entirely. Tony pouted and fidgeted nervously with the twisted phone cord.

“Listen, Daryl. I'm afraid I can't stay to chat much longer.”

“Oh, jeez, I'm sorry,” Daryl said, mentally kicking himself. “I didn't mean—I'm sorry for wasting so much time.”

“Nonsense. If you like I can ring you in the morning, before your flight leaves.”

“No, thank you, Tony. You don't know how much you've done already. Just... thanks.”

“All right then, if you're sure. Goodnight, Daryl. And good luck.”

“Goodnight.”

Daryl held the receiver to his ear until he heard Tony hang up. He set the phone back in its cradle and sighed. He tried to think if there was anything else he needed to do before his departure, but his thoughts were too anxious and jumbled to concentrate. He shut off all the lights and lay down on the creaking hotel bed without bothering to undress. A radio droned from somewhere in the next room, carrying a faint pounding rhythm that drummed into his soul. It sounded familiar somehow, but exhaustion began to overtake him before he could place it and he fell into a light sleep. However, his peace didn't last for very long.

'Mike is here, though. _Mike is here._ ' Tony's words suddenly came back to him with a start. He had called Tony at home, and he did sound fairly anxious to leave the phone. Did that mean Mike was spending the night? Did that mean they were...

Did Phil know about this?

He sat up in bed and pondered this new possibility. Maybe it was nothing. Maybe it was just his imagination running rampant, and Mike wasn't spending the night in Tony's bed after all. But if he was... well, Phil didn't seem at all jealous, if he knew about it. For all he knew, the three of them had some friendly arrangement for just these occasions.

And if they did... no, there was no way Phil would ever allow a fourth into this plan. Was there?

He turned over all these vain hopes and fears until totally exhausted. And then for what must have been the thousandth time, in spite of a nagging guilt that he shouldn't, he found his tired mind slipping into an old fantasy of Phil, shirtless and sweating after a vigorous show, gazing at him with longing in his bright blue eyes. In his mind's eye he watched Phil sensually rub himself all over, spreading the sheen of sweat clinging to his hairy chest, before allowing his hands to wander across his stomach, then further down to strip away his pants, his hips moving to the same driving rhythm that still carried through the walls...

Daryl turned over and undid his own pants, moaning as he touched himself, stroking faster and faster until he ached, not stopping until the welcome burst of release. For a while afterward he continued to lie in bed, dazed and sticky, as he allowed his heart to calm.

But he still couldn't sleep for the longest time.


	3. Chapter 3

It would be several more months before Daryl learned of Phil's aforementioned “plans,” but when he did receive the call one fine spring day, he could hardly contain his excitement. As it turned out, Phil had written several new songs for an album and needed a guitarist.

“Well of course you're the first one I thought of, Daryl!” Phil exclaimed over the phone. “I mean I can't play guitar, now can I?”

Thank God for that, Daryl thought. He hadn't quite been able to get Phil out of his mind since the last tour. Since ever, really. Sure, he'd had projects to work on, recordings, the general business of everyday living. But none of it quite distracted him enough.

“Sure! I'd be thrilled to do it!” Daryl said. “Just tell me when to book the flight.”

“Right now, Daryl! Get your arse over here,” Phil laughed.

Something twinged inside of Daryl at his choice of words. If you only knew, he thought, fumbling with the phone to immediately call the travel agent. He could barely dial the numbers fast enough.

Once there, the days seemed to pass far too quickly in the studio. Phil was always a joy to be around, and Daryl had a little too much fun regaling him with stories about various goofs on past tours. But in spite of the fun and considerable productivity of the sessions, he had yet to take Tony's advice to heart. The more he put it off, the more heavily it weighed on his conscience, until something like guilt settled in his chest each time he saw Phil's smiling face.

It wouldn't be until one afternoon when, by some miracle, it was just him and Phil in the studio, eating a takeout lunch. It was fairly late in the day and neither of them had had anything to eat since six o' clock that morning, but Daryl was suddenly too nervous to eat very much. He cracked open a second beer and watched Phil ravenously attack his food.

It was now or never, really.

“Phil,” he said at last, “there's something I wanted to tell you.”

“Sure 'fing, Daryl,” Phil muttered, working his mouth with some difficulty around a huge bite of sandwich. “Mmmf—jus' a sec.” He chewed and swallowed for a while as Daryl waited patiently and tried not to laugh at the way his cheeks puffed out with food. Finally he gulped and said:

“God, I'm hungry. Anyway, sorry. What's on your mind?”

“Well. I'm not really sure how to put this. But it's kinda personal. And, um. It's about you.”

“Me?” Phil cocked his head and grinned brightly. “Ahhh, I get it, this must be one of those interventions. Wot, do I smell? I smell, don't I.” He sniffed his shirt, wrinkling his nose in mock distaste. This time Daryl couldn't help laughing.

“No, no!” he giggled. “You're fine, Phil, it's nothing like that.”

“Oh, phew! That's all right, then,” Phil replied, taking another bite of his sandwich. “So what is it really?”

“I—” Daryl felt his voice quiver but this time he was determined to finally speak his mind. He took a deep breath. “I'm very attracted to you, Phil.”

Phil paused mid-chew and blinked at him.

“I've always thought you were attractive,” Daryl pressed on. “I never said anything before because I was too chicken, but I also saw the kind of closeness that you have with Mike. You've been friends since you were kids, I mean... I love Mike too, as a good friend, I mean. I'm not attracted to him like that. But I didn't want to be the one to come between you and...” He felt sudden tears sting at his eyes and hung his head in shame, too frustrated with himself to go on. “I'm sorry. I—”

He turned his face away and stood up to leave the table when he felt Phil's hand softly graze his own.

“Daryl, wait.”

He looked. Phil was still staring at him with those beautiful shining blue eyes, but his expression wasn't one of shock or disgust. It was sympathy.

“I didn't know you felt this way,” Phil said gently. “C'mon, sit down. It's all right.” He pushed a plate of fries closer as Daryl sat down again. “'Ere, finish your lunch. You can tell me anything you want to, don't be shy.”

Daryl felt as though he might burst into tears of gratitude, but somehow he managed to maintain his composure long enough to mumble his thanks. He wiped his eyes as Phil kindly looked away and pretended to busy himself with pouring a fresh cup of tea.

“So,” Phil said at last, after they had quietly eaten most of their meal, “this is why I caught you staring at me arse so many times, eh?” He laughed, his eyes twinkling. “You thought I didn't notice.”

“Sorry,” Daryl said with a sheepish grin. “I couldn't help it. It's just that you're out there in front dancing and, um—” He coughed before he could say anything truly embarrassing. “But it's not just that. Ever since I joined the group you've been so good to me. All of you, Mike, Tony. But there was something about you. I can't explain it but you're just so... kind. To everybody. You made me feel welcome. Like I was part of a little family.”

“The Genesis family. I like that,” said Phil, and lowered his eyes modestly. He studiously refrained from making a cheeky but ill-advised joke about 'family with benefits.'

“It's been a while since you joined us,” he said instead. He leaned back in his seat and clasped his hands behind his head. “And all these years, I can't believe I didn't understand.”

“It isn't your fault,” Daryl hastened to say. “I didn't even want to admit it to myself. But I just couldn't wait any more. I do love you. Even if you don't love me back, I had to finally say something.”

Phil nodded. “I'm very glad you did.”

“So... is there a chance it could work between us, Phil?”

Phil sighed, quite deep in thought. He considered how he, too, had once been the odd man out in the early days, and how lonely that could be. How Mike and Tony shared a bond deeper than simple friendship, and he remembered the first time Mike loved and trusted him enough to let him share in that same joy.

“You're worried about Mike, aren't you,” he said. Daryl nodded but Phil didn't seem to be waiting for his reply. “Mike and I,” he went on slowly, “have a funny way of sharing each other. Always among friends. And I do consider you a very dear friend, Daryl.” He took Daryl's hand and gently stroked it with his thumb.

Daryl caught his breath. “So there's a chance?”

“Give it a little time, awight?” Phil said, and stood up from the table. He arched his back to stretch out the kinks. “We still have a lot of work to do. But afterward, perhaps... I might be in a different sort of mood.” He winked.

“You're such a tease,” Daryl said boldly, and was gratified to hear Phil's hearty laugh.

It was all right. He had waited this long. He could wait a little longer.


	4. Chapter 4

The next few weeks passed in a blur of feverish creativity and preparation for the album's release. Things got so hectic at times that Daryl nearly forgot about anything that didn't involve the business of music.

But it would be one morning, not long before tour rehearsals, when Daryl heard the mysterious achy noise of complaint coming from the studio lounge.

Daryl frowned. “Hello?” He poked his head into the lounge to find Phil, standing up behind the practice drumkit with his hands on his lower back.

“Auuuugh,” was Phil's loud reply.

“You okay?”

Phil grimaced as he stretched. “Yeah, I'll be all right. It's these bloody awful chairs.” He kicked at the offending object in disgust and watched it clang some distance over the floor.

“They're the worst, aren't they,” Daryl chuckled. They were the horrible cheap metal folding kind of chair that made one's tailbone feel like it was breaking in two. Usually they were able to find a cushion of some sort if they needed to sit for hours at a time, but unfortunately these chairs seemed to populate the entire studio and there weren't nearly enough pillows to go around.

Phil nodded and rubbed his shoulders. “Well. It's too late now. I'm already sore.”

Daryl's mind sparked with an idea. There didn't seem to be anyone else around at the moment...

“Maybe I can help,” he said warmly, and without thinking his hands were suddenly on Phil's shoulders, massaging them. Phil straightened his back in surprise but he didn't move away. Instead he allowed his head to fall back slightly with a sigh.

“Mmmm, Daryl,” he said, glancing back suggestively.

Daryl paused. “Do you not want me to?”

“Oh no, by all means,” replied Phil. He smiled and flexed his shoulders, allowing Daryl to massage the tension from them. “Aahhh, that's verrrry nice. A little lower, please.”

Daryl grinned to himself and pressed his fingers firmly between Phil's shoulder blades. He could hardly believe his luck.

Phil's muscles were pulled very tight across his shoulders, and Daryl marveled at how remarkably hard and strong they felt. For some reason it had never occurred to him that Phil should have such strength in his upper body. But then again it must take a lot of muscle to put such power in the drums, he thought. He imagined those strong arms holding him close and he felt a warm surge of arousal.

“Is that better?” he asked after Phil seemed to relax somewhat.

“Ohhh, much better, thank you,” purred Phil. He looked over his shoulder, and with a flirtatious glint in his eye he suddenly turned around and took Daryl's face between his hands, planting a firm,wet kiss on his lips. “Mmm. Very very much better.”

Daryl stood there gasping in shock. His knees trembled as he stared back into Phil's sunny face, hardly daring to believe what had just happened.

“What's wrong, Daryl?” Phil laughed. “Not in the mood?” He spread his arms wide for a hug.

Daryl took a step forward. He reached out to take Phil's hands into his own to convince himself that it was all real. Then suddenly his whole mind was one confused desire and he drew Phil into a tight embrace, grabbing at him roughly, his fingers stroking the rounded contours of Phil's ass.

“Ahhhh, god,” he breathed, grabbing Phil’s buttocks in both hands. “I want you.”

Phil moaned, his cock stiffening against Daryl’s hip as he rubbed closer, and allowed himself to be drawn into a deep kiss. His hands wandered to Daryl's belt, fingers digging into the waistband of his jeans.

Daryl broke the kiss, hesitating for an instant, and reached down to prevent Phil from unbuttoning his fly. Phil stopped and gazed into his eyes.

“Too much?” he asked.

“Um, actually,” said Daryl, feeling his face burn, “I want that, yes, but... would you do something first?”

“Anything you like!”

“Would you take off your clothes for me? Slowly.” He bit his lip and glanced at the floor, conscious that he must be turning all possible shades of red by now.

Phil grinned. “A striptease? Ahh, you asked for it, not me!” He took a step back and played with the low collar of his white buttoned shirt. “Where shall I start?” he said, deepening his voice in a playfully suave tone.

“Um... your shirt. I like to see you shirtless,” Daryl said, a little more confidently.

“Ah, very nice. I like to see me shirtless, too,” Phil chuckled. He began unbuttoning his shirt, rubbing his fingers across his chest as Daryl watched in rapt attention. “I feel there should be some music here. You know...” He imitated the beat of a bad porn groove.

Daryl couldn't help laughing. “Oh, wait,” he said, and hurried over to the adjacent wall where one of his guitars remained from a previous day. He plugged it into the amp and played the cheesiest riff he could think of. _Wa-chika-waka, waka-ch-wow..._

“Ha ha! Yeah, I think that sets the tone.” Phil moved his hips to the rhythm, running his hands over his chest. “I knew there was a reason we chose you to be on tour, eh?”

Daryl grinned. “It's what I do.” He sat down on the lounge sofa and kept up the joking riff as long as he could until they both laughed and agreed it was something of a distraction. But even without the music Phil still kept the steady rhythm of his dance, unbuttoning his shirt so slowly that it almost pained Daryl to watch. It took most of his willpower to stop himself from panting too loudly in his excitement. In the back of his mind there was still the nagging worry that Phil might find his perversion distasteful, but Phil seemed to be enjoying himself just as much. He looked Daryl straight in the eye as he finally tore the front of his shirt wide open, displaying himself without a hint of shame.

“You like what you see?” he said in a low voice, running a hand up and down his chest and stomach. The long gold chain around his neck caught the light and clinked as his thumb bumped against the small round pendant.

“Yes,” Daryl breathed. He rubbed himself through the crotch of his jeans. “Yes, keep going...”

Phil shrugged off his shirt completely and tossed it aside on the floor, allowing Daryl to get a good, long look at his compact, energetic little body. The only thing missing, Daryl thought with the tiniest hint of disappointment, was the sweat. But of course he hadn't been performing today and there wasn't much to get sweaty over, not just yet. Maybe after things got a little more heated...

Now Phil turned his back, swaying from side to side in a dance that was somehow equal parts comedic and seductive. He put his hands on his hips, showing off his backside.

“I know you like this,” he murmured. He stroked his own ass, still covered by a pair of tailored khakis that seemed to accentuate and cling just exactly where they should.

“Yes. Oh, you look so good, Phil.”

“Do you want me to take these off?” he teased, his voice like melting sugar. He backed up a couple steps, still facing away but now within arm's reach of Daryl, and bent over, inviting him to touch.

“God, yes,” Daryl said. His hands were already on Phil's rear, stroking and squeezing.

Phil moaned, writhing at his touch, and started to undo his belt. But he paused suddenly and turned around, facing Daryl with a cheeky smile.

“Why don't you take them off for me?” he said. He dropped into Daryl's lap, straddling his thighs.

Daryl could only nod, his breath shuddering with excitement, and undid Phil's pants as quickly as he was able with trembling fingers. He paused only as Phil leaned closer, hungry for another kiss—

“Phil! Daryl!” a gruff voice boomed from down the hall. Heavy footsteps sounded outside the door.

“Shit!” Phil hissed. In one blinding fast motion he was on his feet again and yanking his pants back up, zipping the fly just as the door opened. Daryl could only remain where he was, stunned and blushing very red. His hands instinctively moved to cover his throbbing crotch.

“Yo, they're waitin'!” the crewman barked, jabbing his thumb towards the rehearsal studio.

“Yeah yeah, be right there!” Phil turned his back as nonchalantly as possible to conceal his arousal. He waved his hand and pretended to fuss with the collar of his shirt as he put it on again. “Don't worry!”

The crewman rolled his eyes and stomped away, leaving the door ajar.

Phil and Daryl looked at each other glumly in the awkward silence that followed.

“Phil, I'm really sorry. I should have waited until afterwards.” Daryl hung his head. Why did everything in his life have the worst possible timing?

“Oh, it's not your fault. Time flies when you're having fun, eh?” Phil bounced on his toes and shook himself, trying to cool down as quick as he could. “Anyway, we've got tonight... and the night after... loads of time.” He gave him a quick hug and smiled as Daryl buried his face into his shoulder.

“I really do like you, Daryl.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. Because...” As they walked out the door to the rehearsal room, Phil began to sing in the lowest register he could manage: “I get misty... whenever you goooooo. So staaaay here, in my heaaaaaart.” He placed a hand over his heart and blew a kiss.

Daryl beamed and returned the gesture, laughing.

It didn't matter how long it took, he thought to himself. He'd still have somebody to love.


End file.
